This World Isn't Ours Anymore
by Nallain
Summary: Just an annual visit to a friend's grave - Sue has some contemplating to do.


**Characters © the respective owners**

**This is a work of fiction. I do not own Glee or, indeed, any part of it, and am glad of the fact, because as of now, I'm not so sure I'd be able to make it any better.**

"Hello, Will."

It was surprisingly easy, too easy, to let those words slip. She looked around. As if anyone could be watching her. It was so early in the morning that the sun was still but a reminder, a grayish blur here and there on the horizon. She didn't know why she'd kept this habit for so long. Not the waking up thing – this early was the only logical choice, given that she had no interest in meeting, well, anyone else, ever -, but this, _this…_

She sighed deeply and clutched her jacket tighter around her. It really was damn cold this time of year. But she knew. She'd always known and yet, she'd been coming here for so long, each and every single time _swearing_ to herself that she was going stay in the next time.

"You've always been so impractical," she murmured, "what the hell were you thinking, dying in the winter?"

Silence enveloped her once again, the mockery painfully obvious. Well, it wasn't like she had anything to lose. Her eyes slid on the other graves around her. Grey, black, white, with the occasional burst of over-cheerful colors in the form of a small bouquet of daisies or roses or something equally nonsensical. Seriously, what was the point in flowers; in _winter_? She thought it tactless, and frankly, just a little stupid.

"So anyway, it's been a year… Everybody seems to be just fine without you, you know. That brat Rachel has a new Broadway premiere the next month, or something. The younger Hudson actually managed to get elected Prom Queen, I gather. Oh, and Puckerman is raising taxes, could you believe that? I guess thinking he would go easy on me just 'cause I'm older and used to be an acquaintance of his was just me being naïve again. Well, that should be it… No, wait, Porcelaine's next book's coming up soon! Exciting, huh? If you're a middle-aged woman desperately wanting to cry over sappy characters, that is."

Talking was becoming increasingly difficult. Each word would just leave her mouth and dissipate in the freezing air, completely in vain. She took a moment just to stare at the unresponsive stone in front of her and watched the snow settle silently on top of it. She felt old, older still with the fact that _she_ was the one standing at _his_ grave, not the other way around.

"I saw Gingerlocks the other day, you see," she resumed her monologue, "she seemed fine, for a widow. She never left Lima, though, like you'd told her to. I guess she's just too damn obstinate… She says she still has things to do, things to live for here. Yeah, like your grave, huh? But hey, it's not up to me to try and convince her otherwise. Not worth my damn time. Good ole' boy up there knows I've tried, but it's been some years, you know? 'Guess some people just never change."

Words began to elude her. Everything ached from the cursed cold. Her hips sure as hell weren't what they used to be. She tried to wrap her jacket even tighter around her shoulders.

"This world isn't ours anymore, you know," she said hoarsely, "frankly, it sucks. It's changed so much. It's pretty much eaten up every ounce of sarcasm I'd left in me. I mean, look at me – I come her every year and I don't even have enough decency to insult your memory properly. Things sure have changed and it's been so long since it's been enough to just sing about them. You probably would've failed miserably in this world, Will, being all optimistic and everything. I would _so _love to watch you fail."

She finally felt like she'd had enough. Slowly, she bent down to the grave and lighted the one remaining candle. It took her five attempts; her hands were shaking quite a lot. Then she straightened up, brushing her knees off, and inhaled deeply.

"So this is a goodbye for another year, I guess. I hate having a long life span, it's a pain, really. See ya."

With that, she turned to leave, but stopped abruptly, because she'd remembered something. She looked over her shoulder.

"I know I once promised I would pee on your grave after you died, but here you go, another year passes and nothing's happening. Guess you've won again."

And as she turned to take her leave, her hands stuck in her pockets, the cold bit at her face, the snow crunched under her feet and she was forced to take yet another look at the dull, gray gravestone with the words "_William Schuester_" elaborately engraved in it. The first, and indeed the last ever tear rolled down her cheek as she added:

"You bastard, Will Schuester."

_So, hm, what do you think? Puck as a politician, huh? :D By the way, romance _was not_ meant to be implied. Just friendship, or whatever relationship they might've had. This was really super quick, by the way. What do you think? Let me know, and thank you for reading!_


End file.
